


Wonders of the World (The Keep Me Safe from Harm Remix)

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Avengers Vol. 4 (2010), Community: cap_ironman, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Remix, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Steve, America's top cop, meets Tony, in the middle of launching Resilient, in a hotel room in Seattle. There, Steve finds unexpected comfort in Tony's presence. It wasn't supposed to be an assignation. But then, a snowstorm wasn't supposed to strand them together, either.





	Wonders of the World (The Keep Me Safe from Harm Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy_dee811](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Clandestine Meetings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882896) by [Missy_dee811](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811). 



> This is a remix of Missy_dee811's story [Clandestine Meetings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5882896). Yay, Heroic Age! The original is a lovely story about Steve and Tony hooking up in a hotel during a rainstorm. I upped the rainstorm to a snowstorm, added some extra angst, and made it their first time.
> 
> In terms of specific arcs, this story is set just after the first arc of Avengers volume 4 -- the main team is newly together -- as well as after Stark Resilient in Invincible Iron Man and after Brubaker's run on Secret Avengers, even though that technically extends past the Heroic Age. There are some spoilers for the events of Secret Avengers, as well as some canon divergence with regard to character relationships. (That means, yes, I broke up Steve and Sharon.)
> 
> Thanks to Sheron and Kiyaar for beta.

Hoping against hope that this time the view will be different, Steve walks across the hotel room and pulls back the edge of the curtain. Snowflakes drift by, borne this way and that by the howling wind, clinging to the windowpanes and then sliding down. Steve grits his teeth in annoyance. From this many stories up, he can't accurately gauge the snow depth—but from the rapid way the road below is turning white, stained orange by the setting sun, he knows it's going to be a while before he's getting out of Seattle.

It's strange; he'd been so happy, landing here this morning. He frowns. _Happy_ isn't the right word. More like _relieved_. The Quincarrier had eased onto the tarmac, and everything within him had settled down when the jet had, bringing a peace he didn't know he could still feel. He wasn't on Mars anymore. He wasn't in Hong Kong. He was in the States, and everything was all right. He'd thought, finally, here's a day where he doesn't have to run a mission. Here's a day where he doesn't have to live in the darkness, doesn't have to carve his own heart out to save the world, doesn't have to do the most terrible of things for the very best of reasons.

Here's a day where he gets to see Tony.

Natasha had been flying them back to New York, in the wake of the Hong Kong mission, and Steve had curled up in one of the jump seats and stared out at the clouds and tried to remember what it felt like to be a human being again. He hadn't been having a lot of luck. Sharon had known better than to try to comfort him, after— after everything.

Someone had had one of the news feeds on, the screen murmuring quietly to itself, and that was when Steve heard it: _—Stark to hold a press conference and tech demonstration, showcasing the potential of his new company, Resilient—_

And Steve felt joy for the first time in weeks, sparking bright within him.

That. He wanted that.

He hadn't told Tony he was coming. He hadn't wanted to risk jinxing it, in case another mission showed up. He hadn't even meant to talk to Tony; no doubt Tony would be busy with his investors and his engineers and his venture capitalists, too busy for him. He didn't know what he would say if he did talk to him. He just wanted to see Tony. To stand in the same room as him. To stand in the light, to imagine he still stood in the light with him. The best of the heroes. His hero, still, even after everything that had come between them.

When Tony stepped out onto the stage, Steve felt alive. He felt warm again. Steve's job had had him walking in the shadows so deeply and for so long that he thought he'd forgotten what the light was like, how to find it again. He should have remembered that it was where Tony was.

Tony's talk had been amazing. It had been awfully technical, of course—there'd been slides and blueprints and some equations Steve couldn't make heads or tails out of—but Steve had been at Tony's side in Avengers briefings long enough to be able to tell when Tony was being revolutionary and Steve could trust that the details were all worked out. Tony brought out some other prototype engine, a miniature version of what had been in the car he'd shown off before, and the crowd cheered. He mentioned something about cloud computing and showed off some new kind of server architecture and the more computer-minded people had clapped. And through it all Tony had been smiling, proud, in a way Steve knew wasn't just for the cameras; he was brilliant, and he knew it, and he was going to change the world.

It was why Steve had fallen in love with him, really.

When the talk ended, when the applause died down, the investors in their immaculate suits had gathered around to swarm Tony, to ask him questions more informally, to network. Without really meaning to, Steve had found himself pushing forward, his feet carrying him to the front of the room.

Steve had waited patiently in the crowd. His uniform made him stand out, he was sure, but Tony, engrossed in a discussion of energy yields, hadn't even looked up—until he did. And then he was _really_ smiling, in a way that made Steve's stomach lurch and flip even though he knew Tony hadn't meant it like that. Tony's eyes were bright. Sure, Tony had been happy on the stage, but this was an entirely different class of happiness. This was something just for him.

"St— Cap— Commander Rogers!" Tony said, catching himself twice. "I had no idea you were going to be here! What did you think?"

"Surprise," Steve said, and he realized his mouth hurt from smiling, and it felt like he hadn't smiled in a month. "It was a good talk, Tony. Congratulations on everything you've done."

He held out a hand; Tony shook it. There was an unexpected advantage to these fingerless gloves; he could feel Tony, skin soft against Steve's callused fingertips. Tony held on a little too long, like he hadn't wanted to let go either.

"Thanks." Tony's smile now was maybe even a little shy. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Steve cleared his throat. "I was wondering if we could talk later," he said, and then he snapped his mouth shut, half-horrified at himself, because he definitely had not meant to say that. He had no claim on Tony. He had no need to drag Tony into the darkness with him.

Tony blinked a few times, startled, and then he looked Steve up and down, taking in the clothing, the star on his chest. He was probably wondering what it meant for Steve's professional interests, since he'd shown up in uniform. "Of course. And you're here representing...?"

"Myself," Steve told him. "Here, I'll give you my— do you have a pen?"

Tony opened his coat and passed him—of course—an expensive-looking mechanical pencil. Steve clicked the lead open, fished a business card out of his pouch, flipped it over, and scrawled the hotel name and his room number on the back before pressing the pencil and the card back into Tony's hands.

It only occurred to him that it looked like some kind of illicit assignation when Tony glanced down at the card, and he watched Tony's eyes widen as he mouthed the number.

"I, uh. Okay," Tony said, and he pocketed the card quickly, almost furtively, like it contained a precious secret. "Okay. See you soon."

Steve set his jaw and hoped his face wasn't too red. "Thank you, Tony."

Still, even as he'd relinquished Tony to his other admirers, he'd felt better about it. So what if it looked like Tony was going to come see him for other purposes? That didn't matter. Tony was going to come see him. That was worth something.

He'd felt better for a bit, and then he'd felt worse and now—

Well, now he's practically dismal.

And here he is.

What was supposed to be a rainy winter day in Seattle was derailed by an abrupt cold front, and it's been snowing since he got back to the hotel. Sea-Tac's grounded everything, all the other regional airports followed suit including the bases, and for Steve's purposes that means there's no getting out of here until the weather clears, even in the Quincarrier.

He hates being trapped.

It's been snowing for hours, and obviously Tony isn't coming all the way over here to see him in the snow. It's not like Steve's staying in the same hotel as the conference. And Tony has better people to see, richer people, more interesting people—not some former teammate who's spent far too long now running missions he can't even talk about. Steve wants things to be okay with Tony. Since Vanaheim, it feels like they've been so careful with each other, that their friendship is so fragile that they can't touch without risking something breaking forever. He remembers the look in Tony's eyes when he'd asked Tony to join the team, when Tony had swallowed hard and looked back at him and said _all I can see are the mistakes._

Yeah, Steve wouldn't want to spend time with himself, either.

And, okay, it probably really doesn't help that he's just plain lonely. There's nothing to be done for it. Steve sighs, lets the curtain drop, steps away from the window... and there's a knock on the door.

It's ridiculous how excited that makes Steve. His heart already lifting, he practically bounds over to the door.

Tony's on the other side. His suit's a little rumpled now, and he's wearing a long woolen coat over it. Snow spatters his shoulders. His nose and cheeks are a bit flushed. But he's grinning brightly, and he holds up the card Steve had given him between his first two fingers, like he's posing with a cigarette.

"Sorry I'm late," Tony murmurs. "I came as soon as I could. It was a bit of a hike. Thanks for the invitation." He smiles with a flash of his showman's charm. "You know, I usually have to work a little harder to get someone's number."

He doesn't mean it. He can't mean it. He's rambling, joking. Steve still can't believe he's even here.

"You walked here in the snow?" Steve asks, incredulously.

Tony just shrugs a little. "Sure. It wasn't actually that far. I mean, where else was I going to go?"

"Home?" Steve points out. "You do live here."

"Eh." Tony shrugs again. "Not even I want to fly in this weather. And I've been practically living with half a dozen engineers, trying to get Resilient up and running, and if you thought my work-life balance was appalling, you should see theirs. Besides," he says, adding a tiny smile, "I found out your flight was probably grounded, and you seemed like you could use the company."

"I—" Steve stammers, because he can't just throw his arms around Tony and hold him close and never let go. "I— I—"

"Going to let me in?" Tony asks. He pauses. "If you want."

Steve steps back. "I want." It's an easy thing to say the way he says it, to make it sound light, to make it part of their old banter. He makes himself grin as he says it. And just like the old banter, Tony will never know how much he means it.

Tony smiles that small smile again.

* * *

Steve hangs Tony's coat and jacket up for him. Tony edges past him into the room and takes one of the seats at the table in the corner. It already brightens the place up, having him here. Steve knows it's not like the old days. He knows they can't be what they were in the days when they'd never hurt each other. But he needs this. He needs Tony like air, and he was wrong to not be on the team, to take the offer, to work in the shadows—

"Water?" Steve asks. "Food? I can get room service." He hopes Tony will say yes; it means he gets to keep him here for longer, that he can have even more precious few minutes with him.

Tony smiles. "Water would be great, thanks. Maybe food in a bit. My schedule's clear for the rest of the evening, so I'm all yours."

With anyone else, Tony would probably have tried to play up the flirtation there. He doesn't bother. It means he doesn't like Steve like that, certainly—a fact Steve has long since accepted—but it means he does like him, and Steve will take that. And, God, he gets Tony to himself for the whole evening. A luxury. There's no use in wanting more than that.

"Here." Steve tosses Tony a bottle of water from the mini fridge.

Tony opens the bottle with dextrous fingers and has a polite sip. "Thanks," Tony says. He takes another sip, caps the bottle, and sets it down. "Just to clarify, you're not here officially, right? This isn't some kind of business negotiation for Resilient?"

Steve makes himself smile. He thinks he remembers how to smile. "Nope. Just me."

"Oh, thank God." Tony tips his head back and sighs, and Steve realizes that Tony looks goddamn _exhausted_. "I mean, I'm glad I'm doing this, but it's been a long day, you know?"

He runs a finger around his collar, loosens his tie until it hangs around his neck. He's settling in.

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "I know the feeling."

Tony sighs again and seems to sink into the chair. "So," he says. His eyes fall shut, and he seems to be talking to the ceiling. "Not business. Why are we here?"

The question doesn't sound accusatory, but it's like Steve's hackles go up without meaning to, like he can't remember how not to fight with Tony, like he can't remember how not to fight with the entire damn world.

He can't say _I need you_. He can't say _we used to talk_. He can't say _we used to be friends._

"You don't have to be here," Steve says, and he knows he sounds terse. Tony's got that new armor of his inside his body. Always with him. Tony could fly out right now and leave him behind. "You don't need to do me any favors."

Tony's eyes open. His head tips down, and his gaze fixes on Steve. "Hey," he says, softly. "Don't be like that. You want me here, I'm here. Always." He holds out his hands, like he's unarmed, like he's surrendering.

The last thing Tony remembers before the siege of Asgard is getting Extremis, Steve knows. But Steve remembers it all. The war. The hatred. Tony lying bleeding and broken. And Steve had dragged himself back to life to find that Tony still needed him, to find that Tony was unconscious, his memories already gone, and he'd left it to his friends to decide his fate. _How the hell can you ask me to do this?_ Steve had thought, furious, but he'd helped carry Tony to the roof. He'd helped wire Mjolnir to the shield and to the RT in Tony's chest. They'd sent a lightning strike coursing through Tony to reboot his brain, and Steve had watched Tony scream and felt it like it was his own pain. He'd known then that no matter what they did to each other, he was never going to stop loving him. They were here for good.

Tony's never going to remember that, either.

The last thing Tony remembers is that they liked each other.

Steve can't punish him for things he'll never remember. And even if he did—the war's over. Steve exhales hard.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, quietly.

He probably should have said that a long time ago.

He knows he's not the only one who made mistakes. He knows that they both had their flaws, their failings. Their crimes. But he wants so much for them to be okay again, and he knows he never apologizes enough, and he hopes that if he keeps saying it, it will be a start.

"It's okay," Tony says, just as quietly. "Are you okay?" He blinks and squints, like he's seeing Steve for the first time. "You look like _shit_ , Steve. What's wrong?"

What is he supposed to say to that? _I hate my job?_ That sounds pathetic.

He can't answer. He takes the seat opposite Tony. His hands smooth uselessly over his thighs. His gloves catch on the leather of his thigh holster.

"How does it feel," he asks, "starting Resilient? Being in the clean energy business now?"

Tony is silent for a moment, contemplative. "Honestly? It feels great. I mean, the funding situation is terrifyingly precarious, it's a hell of a lot of work, and you wouldn't believe the number of generals I have pissed off with the announcement. Seems they were really counting on me for guns." Tony's mouth quirks. "But it's good, you know? I think I'm starting to be able to live with myself. I keep thinking, if this is my legacy, it wouldn't be bad." His smile is thin. "I don't have to die a war profiteer."

Steve is bitterly jealous. His hand is on his thigh again, muscle memory he wishes he didn't have. His fingers worry at the leather flap that covers his sidearm.

"I have to carry a gun now." He knows he sounds miserable. He knows he never wanted this.

Tony's gaze drops to Steve's leg. "Steve, no," he says, softly, his gaze stricken, and Steve knows that Tony is one of the few people who understands what this alone costs him. "God, Steve. I'm sorry."

"SHIELD might not exist anymore, but there's a lot of ex-SHIELD ordnance lying around." Steve can feel his lips peel back in an expression that isn't a smile. "You want to guess who made their guns?"

He unholsters the gun, checks the safety, passes it over; Tony takes it with the confident hands of a man who's spent a lifetime dealing with firearms. _Stark Industries_ is stamped on the grip. "Yeah," Tony says, on a sigh. "The SHIELD special. I thought so. Nine-mil Parabellum, optional chambering for SHIELD-issue plasma energy packs if you're desperate. I was always proud of that feature."

Tony puts the gun on the table between them. Steve doesn't move to take it back.

"You're keeping me alive out there," Steve says, low and solemn, and he hates that this is what it's come to. "And I know you don't want to do this. I know that's not where you are anymore. It's not where I want to be either." The admission just twists everything in him up worse, a tangled mess of regret. "But thank you. For having done it."

Pained, Tony meets his gaze. Steve can watch a complicated calculus pass through Tony's somber eyes. Tony's mouth twitches and then firms up. It's the face Tony gets during mission briefings right before he offers up his own death for the greater good of the world, and Steve wonders what it says about them that he knows Tony has a face for that.

"If you need," Tony begins, hesitantly. "Steve, if you ever need anything—"

That's when he figures out exactly what Tony is offering. "God, no. You're out of the weapons business."

Tony half-smiles. "You don't even want to know what I'd do to keep you safe."

He remembers Tony standing in the mansion, crying, begging him to stop fighting. He remembers asking Tony at the end if it was worth it. Even if Tony never answered him then, he's sure picked a side now.

"No." Steve shakes his head. "Tony, you can't sell your soul for me."

Tony's laughter is bitter. "What soul?" He snorts. "I've read the news. I've seen what I've done. Exactly what do you think I have left?"

Steve summons up the last dregs of strength in him and answers Tony, because Tony needs the comfort, because he'll do anything for Tony. "You're a good person," he says, and he wants to laugh as he says it, because what the hell is his opinion worth? He's not a good person. His judgment is skewed. His moral compass is broken. God, if Tony knew what he'd done, he'd never smile at him again.

But Tony just looks at him the same way he always has, like his faith in Steve is unshakeable. "And you're Captain America." He says it like it's an immutable fact of the universe. Like it should hearten Steve. Tony knows Steve isn't okay, and Tony thinks this should comfort him.

_I'm not Captain America anymore_ , he wants to say, and he remembers the last time he said that aloud, in a shadowy room in Hong Kong, and something within him withers.

"That's Bucky," Steve says. His voice is flat. "And, yeah, Tony, I think you're doing a hell of a lot better than I am. You're going to change the world. You're— you're in the light." It sounded better in his head. "I'm running a goddamn black-ops team and I just— I want a few hours where I can pretend that this isn't my life, that I'm standing proudly with the rest of the heroes. With you."

Tony's staring at him like he can't believe they've switched sides in this argument. Steve knows which of them used to say this. And then Tony lifts his head, determined, and Steve knows that Tony's going to try to pull him up. "It doesn't matter if you're not Captain America," Tony says. "You know damn well you're still a hero—"

"I tortured a man last week," Steve says, and everything grinds to a halt.

Tony's mouth hangs open in shock.

"Jesus Christ, Steve."

"He had intel," Steve says, tonelessly. He knows he shouldn't be telling Tony this. It's classified. Nothing matters anymore. "I needed it. He looked at me and he told me Captain America wasn't going to torture a captive. And I told him I wasn't Captain America anymore, and I picked him up by the throat. He got the idea. And then I dropped him, and I walked away, and I let Natasha and Sharon follow my orders. And I sat there and watched while he screamed."

Tony's still just staring at him. His eyes are wide. His throat works like he wants to speak but has no words. Steve doesn't know what to say either. _Save me_ , he wants to say, but that's neither fair nor possible. _Save me from myself._

Steve lets his gaze focus on the table, at his gun that still lies there. The weapon he'd never pick up again, if it were up to him. "I hate what this job makes me do," he says. "Except that's an excuse, isn't it? The job didn't make me do it. I did it. I chose to do it. And I don't want to be a man who does this. I don't want to cross those lines. I tell myself it was necessary, that it was the only decision I could make, and I— I feel myself dying inside. And I don't know what to do."

It's terrifying, opening himself up like this. He and Tony used to talk like this all the time. They hashed out their hopes and fears over long, late nights in the mansion. They'd built and forged that intimacy together. He always used to know he could go to Tony, when things got rough. But it's been years since they've done this. They haven't talked like this since the war. They broke, and Steve doesn't know if they've fully healed. He doesn't know if they can.

Steve breathes in and out and looks at Tony and wonders if the old bond still holds. If he can count on him like he used to. He pictures Tony sneering. Laughing at him. Mocking him. Saying that this is what he's earned, that he's naive, that he should have known when he took the job that it would harden him.

Steve thinks about what will happen the next time they have a prisoner and his team needs intel. He wonders if he'll be the one to do it. If he'll send Natasha and Sharon away and pull out a gun.

He doesn't want to be that man.

Tony's silent for a long while.

"I've done a lot of things that I'm never going to remember," Tony says, very quietly, and God, no, that's over, they were done. Steve doesn't want to talk about that. Steve wanted help but he never wanted this. Tony's hand is splayed out on the table, like he wants to reach for the gun. "I get the impression that a lot of them were pretty goddamn terrible. Unforgivable, even."

"Tony, I—"

_I already forgave you_ , he means to say. Tony doesn't let him. But maybe that's okay. It's not as if Steve has the right to forgive anyone now.

"When it's come up in conversation," Tony continues, "I keep telling people the same thing. I keep telling them that whatever I did, I did because I thought it was the right thing to do and would save the most lives. I keep telling them that I'm not sorry. That I'd do it all again." Tony swallows hard, and Steve remembers Tony begging him for death. No one else heard that. No one else knows. "That's what I have to say to keep going. That's what everyone has to believe. But it's a lie." Tony's mouth twists. "And you know it's a lie, because I told you the truth back in the Nine Realms. I _am_ sorry." He picks up the water bottle again, takes a sip, cradles it like he wants it to be liquor. "I didn't lie to you. I couldn't lie to you. And I can't lie to myself. And that's the only way you get through this. By not lying to yourself."

Steve can only imagine what it's taken out of Tony to talk about this. Again. For him. Steve can feel his face twist up into a wry and awful smile. "I'm a shitty liar."

"Hell, yeah, you are," Tony says, almost fondly. His laugh is a huffing breath. "And, more concretely, you need to quit your fucking job before it kills you."

"I can't," Steve says, helpless, trapped, because he has a duty and he'll be damned if he shirks it. "The president asked me to—"

"Bullshit!" Tony snaps. "The president asked you to _restart SHIELD_ , and you told him you were doing it your way, and now you're scrambling to cover the work of an entire intelligence agency with a fucking six-man black-ops team. This isn't the way it's supposed to work. You're not supposed to be the one making these calls in the field, and you know it."

"Somebody has to," Steve points out.

"Not you," Tony says, fiercely. There's an odd kind of loyalty in his eyes. It's strange now to see his anger aimed at the world, at someone other than Steve. "I can name half a dozen people who could do it, several of whom are already on your team. And I'm sure you can come up with the same list."

Steve sighs. "Yeah, but I—" God, he's so tired. "I can't. I'm in. I can't get out. The work's not done."

"The work's never going to be done," Tony tells him.

Sighing again, Steve pushes himself to his feet, wanders over to the window, pulls back the curtain again. The snow's still falling, thicker and heavier, huge flakes sleeting down. He can't leave Seattle either. He's still trapped.

There's a creaking noise behind him, and then soft footsteps as Tony rises. Tony comes to a halt behind him, looking over his shoulder at the snow.

"Yeah," Tony says, with sympathy in his voice, "you probably want to get out of here, get home to Sharon, huh? I don't blame you."

Pressing the length of his forearm against the window, Steve leans on the glass, which is chilly under his bare fingers. He lets his eyes go unfocused as he stares out at the blank whiteness. "We broke up. Again."

Loneliness claws into Steve again, bleak and empty, hollowing out a space, scoring across his heart. Steve doesn't know how much more of this he can take. It helps having Tony here, sure, but Tony's not— Tony can't be what Steve is hungering for now. He wants someone to hold him, to touch him, to chase away the sadness for a little while.

There's a tentative pressure on his bicep. Tony is patting his arm in awkward sympathy. "I'm sorry," Tony murmurs.

"Don't be," Steve says, the instinctual response. He sighs. "It was bound to happen."

Sharon had been kidnapped twice in as many missions; John Steele had, in fact, been using her as bait to get to him. And she was sick of it, sick of being leverage, sick of everything. She'd said she could work with him or date him, but not both. He hadn't realized how hard he had been trying to hold on to her, to something, to anything—and she'd told him no. She couldn't be responsible, not like that. She couldn't patch them both up when the mission left them both hurting, and he knew it wasn't fair to ask her to. He hadn't asked. He was making her do enough. And that meant she couldn't save him. No one could.

Steve slides to the side, out from Tony's grip, to find Tony staring at him, an aching pain in his eyes. He hasn't moved; he's helplessly holding out a hand.

"Maybe so," Tony says, with a fractional tilt of his head. "But it still sounds like a lousy time for you to be alone."

Crazily, Steve wonders if Tony is offering— if he could possibly be offering— but then Tony's hand falls. Steve guesses that's a no.

"Yeah, well," Steve says. "Not much I can do about that one."

Tony shrugs. "There's always casual sex." His voice is artless. Like it all means nothing. "It's been working out fine for me lately."

The statement shakes Steve—a shock, a temblor, a minor earthquake. An emotion that Steve steadfastly refuses to call jealousy twists through him. It's not just the fact that they don't talk about their sex lives, him and Tony. It's the fact that he knows what Tony does, and this isn't it. Steve realizes he's staring in utter disbelief, because Tony can't have said that, because—

"You hate casual sex," Steve blurts out.

Uncomprehending, Tony blinks at Steve, eyes wide and stunned, like Steve's just said _you hate engineering_. "I think it's been well established that I'm generally a big fan of sex, actually," Tony says. He sounds tense, awkward. He's trying to smile, to defuse the tension, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I didn't say you hated sex," Steve points out, and he can't quite believe he's saying this, but, hell, he started it, he's seeing it through now. "I said you hated _casual_ sex. There's a difference."

"Oh?" Tony sounds, at least, dryly curious.

"It's hurting—"

"Hey," Tony says, veiled, dangerous. A warning. "Don't give me that. Everyone in my bed wants to be there. Everyone has a good time. No one's getting hurt, okay?"

"It's hurting _you_ ," Steve says, anguished. Tony says nothing. "I _know_ you, Tony. I know what you want." His voice comes out of him low, quiet, intense. "You want love. At the end of the day, you want someone to come home to." For a split second, there's a terrible longing in Tony's eyes, and Steve knows he has him. "You don't do casual, and what you're doing, meaningless sex—it's hurting you. And if I had to guess, you're thinking that this is what you deserve. That you don't deserve what you really want. What you need."

Tony glances down. He's not meeting Steve's eyes. He scuffs his shoe on the carpet. "Sometimes I wish you knew me less well," he mutters.

Silence stretches out, fills the room. Steve's heart is pounding and he doesn't know why.

Tony looks up again. His face is tight, tense, closed off. He's already decided happiness isn't for him and he doesn't want to talk about it. He meets Steve's eyes, and Steve's reminded of the way Tony looks at the worst Avengers briefings, the ones where there are no good options, where failure is assured.

"Even setting aside the fact that I've committed terrible atrocities that I can't remember," Tony says, and his voice is so cold, "I've been working eighteen-hour days trying to get Resilient off the ground. And I'm an active Avenger on the main team. That doesn't particularly leave a lot of time for a relationship, and then you add back in the terrible atrocities. There's not a whole lot of me left for anyone, and I'm not seeing how anyone would want what's left." He smiles a sad smile. "So who exactly do you think would love me?"

It's now or never. Steve swallows hard. And then he charges forward, the way he's always done. It's terrifying but inevitable. They've come down to the truth at the heart of it all, and it will change everything, but he can't lie to Tony. He never could.

"Me."

The word echoes in the stillness. Neither of them speak. Steve wonders what kind of mistake he's made, and if it's too late to take it back. He wonders how arrogant he is, presuming that Tony would want him just because he wants Tony. What the hell was he thinking?

"Tony," he stammers. "I— I'm—"

That's when he realizes that Tony is shaking. Tony is smiling, just barely, slow and tremulous, like Steve's given him everything he ever wanted and he doesn't know if he'll be able to keep it.

"This is real?" Tony's voice is soft, wondering. "This isn't you trying to hurt me?"

He wishes he could say _I'd never hurt you._ He wishes they still lived in a world where that were true. "This is real," he says. "Tony, I'd— I'd never lie about this. Never. And I don't want to hurt you. God, I don't want to hurt you ever again."

Tony takes a halting, stumbling step forward, and Steve holds out his hands, and then Tony is in his arms.

The first kiss is sweet, tender, slow. Tony kisses him like he's saved up this kiss for a decade and he's going to make it count. Tony kisses him like he's intent on figuring out exactly what Steve likes, like he needs to know how to be the best kiss Steve's ever had. Tony's tongue licks into his mouth carefully, easily, as Steve parts his lips for him, and it's good, it's so good, it's better even than Steve has been able to dream.

And then Tony slides his hands through the shoulder straps of Steve's uniform and pulls him down. Steve's not much taller than Tony ordinarily, but Tony's in dress shoes and Steve's in combat boots and it adds up. Steve staggers, off-balance, not used to being with someone who can actually manhandle him. The kiss turns heavy and rough, and fuck, that's just as nice.

Two can play at this game, Steve thinks, and he slides his hands down Tony's back to the swell of his ass. Tony moans broken encouragement into Steve's mouth and rocks up against him, and God, Tony's getting hard. They both are. Steve slides his hands a little lower and just _lifts_ and Tony's clutching onto Steve's uniform straps in something that's got to be renewed desperation, a surge of lust, and his warm thighs wrap around Steve's waist, and oh, yeah, that's the good stuff.

"God, that's hot," Tony murmurs against Steve's lips. "Throw me around some more, why don't you?"

Obligingly, Steve moves forward. He discovers very quickly that it's hard to be precise about this when Tony is doing his level best to distract him, rocking up against Steve, tipping Steve's head back and kissing his throat. Steve carries him anyway.

Ten seconds later they crash into the wall with a very alarming thud. Tony makes a muffled squawking noise of surprise against Steve's mouth. Something behind Tony creaks. Steve hopes it wasn't structurally necessary.

Pinned between Steve and the wall, Tony lifts his head up. His eyes are bright and he's laughing. "Jesus, Steve, don't break the hotel," he says, still laughing. "I'm not made of money anymore, you know."

Steve realizes he's laughing too. Steve can't remember the last time he slept with someone who made him laugh.

"Hey," he says, "I'll have you know the United States government is paying for this hotel room. This is on Uncle Sam's dime."

"I will pay cash money to see that expense report," Tony informs him. He nibbles the side of Steve's neck and Steve shivers.

Steve's weak in the knees, and he's starting to worry he might actually drop Tony. "I'll—oh, God, Tony—I'll fill it out proudly." He knows he's still smiling. He can kind of picture it. Property damage incurred while sleeping with Tony Stark. It'd be for a good cause.

Tony's eyes glint. "You better," he whispers, and he surges up to kiss Steve again.

Steve decides that structural integrity is the wiser choice, so he gathers Tony up again, turns, and takes a few more steps forward to drop him on the bed. At least, that's what he intends to happen. Because Tony's fingers are still tangled in the straps of his uniform, Steve goes over with him. He barely manages to prop himself up with a hand on the bed as he falls, so he doesn't land directly atop Tony. They're an uncoordinated, graceless mess and Steve thinks this is the most fun he's had in _years_.

"Whoa!" Tony smiles up at him, eager and excited, and he frees a hand from the straps to brace Steve's chest, covering most of the star with his palm. "Easy, there." He's grinning and arching up against Steve, thrusting his hips, and it's plain even through the layers of clothing that Tony is massively hard, that both of them are. Tony grinds up against him at just the right angle and Steve gasps.

"Oh, God," Steve says. "Please keep doing that."

Tony tips his head back against the pillows. The long line of his throat is vulnerable, trusting, and this is how they always should have been. The top buttons of Tony's shirt are undone. Steve wants to rip it off him, wants to bare his skin, wants to run his hands all over him, wants to learn him by touch in ways he's never been allowed to before.

Steve rocks forward and Tony's legs go up and over his lower back, trying to pull him closer, trying to welcome him in. They're still both fully clothed. Tony's eyelashes flutter; his eyes fall shut. "God, I wish you could fuck me," Tony whispers.

The thought of that sends pure pleasure sizzling along Steve's nerves. His hips snap forward on pure instinct before he registers the words. Tony's making it sound like Steve actually _can't_ fuck him.

Steve frowns. "Can't I?"

Tony laughs. "Despite my sordid reputation, I do not in fact carry condoms and lube on me at all times. Didn't exactly think this was going to happen, you know? So unless you've got some in those pouches of yours, then we've got nothing."

"Sorry, no." Steve shakes his head.

Tony's mouth quivers. "What kind of Boy Scout are you, huh?"

Steve snorts; he realizes he's shaking with laughter. God, he loves Tony. "This is really what you want to talk about right now?"

"Why?" Tony raises an eyebrow in mock-challenge. "You got something else you'd rather be doing?"

"I was kind of—" Steve rolls his hips against Tony and they both groan— "in the middle of something."

If they keep doing this, he is absolutely going to come in his pants like a damn teenager. He's not sure he'd even mind. It must be love.

"Well," Tony says, regrouping like he's in battle, except in battle he's not dark-eyed and moaning, spread out beneath Steve. "There are plenty of other things we can do in the meantime." The sentence is low, sultry, seductive—and then Tony's attempt to get Steve out of his clothes is derailed when Steve's shirt catches on his shoulder straps and Tony's fingers tangle in the buckles of his belt and his now-empty thigh holster. Tony swears.

"You okay there?"

"Fuck you," Tony says, an insult with no heat, as he extricates his fingers with an aggrieved wince. "You're absolutely gorgeous, but how many fucking _buckles_ does one man need?"

Helpless, Steve starts chuckling again. "It's okay," he says. "I've got this."

He shifts his weight back so that he's practically standing up, yanks one glove off, reaches down, and undoes his fly. He feels ridiculous and exposed, leaning over Tony like this, in full uniform but with his cock hanging out. He feels like he's the centerfold of a porno mag, some filthy fantasy he had no idea could exist until he became it. His skin prickles with heat.

But then he glances back at Tony, and Tony's staring at him, awed, eyes wide, lips parted, mute with sheer lust, like Steve's the brand-new eighth wonder of the world, and okay, yes, Steve could get used to this.

"Oh, yeah," Tony breathes. "That works for me."

Tony fumbles with his own fly, clumsy and desperate, like he needs Steve right now, needs Steve so much that he can't possibly be bothered with anything but the barest of necessities. Steve's had a fair amount of sex in his life, but he's having trouble remembering any of it that had this much passion, anyone he wanted this much. He's having trouble remembering anything that isn't Tony.

Tony's cock is gliding through the circle of his fist and, God, that's a beautiful sight. Tony leans back and Steve realizes he's staring when Tony beckons him forward.

"Come on," Tony murmurs, his voice low and urgent. "Come on, come on, oh God, Steve, I need you right now—"

Tony pulls him back down and they slide perfectly into alignment, Steve's cock rubbing up against Tony's. Tony gasps, an amazing little jagged sound. Steve arches up and braces himself on one hand to get enough room even as Tony is dragging their mouths together, and Steve wraps his hand around both their cocks, stroking them together.

He doesn't mean for it to happen, but Steve starts to go away in his head, just a little. He wants to stay here with Tony, where everything is warm and safe, but he blinks and he's standing on a dusty Martian plain, in a tiny room in Hong Kong, and his throat goes tight.

Tony's eyes snap open and Tony traces a hand down the side of Steve's face and Tony's right here, Tony's an anchor, Tony's got him. Steve smiles and leans into the touch.

"So good," Tony breathes. "Shh. It's okay. You're so good, Steve." Something deep within Steve stills at those words, finally soothed. He wants to be good again.

"So are you," Steve says, kissing him again.

Steve works his hand over both of them, squeezing them tighter, faster. His hand is slick with their combined pre-come. It's a strange sensation, touching himself and Tony at the same time. He can feel half of it, the rest a ghost that he senses through Tony's reactions—and Tony's awfully encouraging, pushing up against him, thrusting, trying to get more. Tony's hands curve over his ass, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Tony keeps talking the whole time, grounding him, the praise turning into an odd kind of free-association, the way he gets when he's in the middle of engineering something and words keep coming out of his mouth. It is unguarded and relentlessly charming. Steve doesn't think he even knows he's doing it.

"Good hands," Tony murmurs, his eyes falling shut. "Good, good hands, twenty-nine bones in the hand, did you know? Mmm, oh, oh God." Tony's cock jerks, and he's close, and Steve can feel arousal center low in his belly at the idea that he's going to make Tony come. "Warm hands," Tony tells him. "You've got big hands. You know what they say about guys with big hands?"

"My dick is _right here_ ," Steve pants out. "You can measure it yourself."

Tony's eyes snap open. Clearly he's finally figured out he was talking out loud. His face is flushed. He's laughing an awkward half-laugh. "Oh, Jesus, Steve, I'm so—" he tries to say, and that's when Steve squeezes them tighter, the fast stroke that gets him off in ten seconds flat, and Tony groans and stiffens in his hand. "Oh, fuck," he blurts out, "I'm coming—"

Tony's cock jerks again and spurts in Steve's hand, striping over Steve's fingers, over Tony's suit, and Tony's still laughing as he comes. He doesn't even let Steve slow down; he just slides one hand up to pull them back into a kiss and slides his other hand between them to replace Steve's hand on his own cock.

Tony's finally touching him. Steve has dreamed of this for years. He's so close, and he's so worked up, and Tony's mouth on his is already heavenly, that he barely lasts another ten seconds before shaking and shivering and coming all over Tony's stomach, soaking into his dress shirt.

Steve's trembling arms finally give out on him and he collapses, managing to roll to the side so he can curl up next to Tony. He throws an arm and a leg over him. He realizes he's smiling. He realizes Tony's smiling back.

He likes this. He wants to do this again. Maybe forever.

"In my defense," Tony mumbles, glancing away and sounding abashed, "I should say that I am usually about ten thousand times more suave than this."

Steve reaches out, fingers brushing Tony's beard, and tips Tony's face toward him so he can kiss him. "Hey, no, you were perfect. This was what I wanted."

"But—"

"Look," Steve says, firmly, "if I ever want to sleep with People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive for three years running, I'll ask that guy, okay? I wanted _you_ , Tony."

"Aww." Tony beams. "You counted." His eyes, still bright, widen more in realization. "Oh my God, you bought the issues? You did, didn't you?"

Steve's face is hot. "You notice I've never commented on your Captain America memorabilia collection, Tony."

"Okay, okay." Tony raises the hand Steve isn't lying on, an admission of defeat. "Point taken. So we've both been obsessed with each other for years, perfectly normal cornerstone of a healthy relationship, moving on." He says it like he means it to be a joke, but it can't be. Not after what they've done to each other.

He captures Tony's free hand with his other hand, the half-gloved one. "I think we both know we've never been normal," he says, softly. "I don't see why we should have to start being normal now. And as for the rest, I know we've had our troubles, and if you— if you can forgive me for... everything, I'd like to start over. Like this."

He knows he can't ask this of Tony. He asked in the Nine Realms, but that was then. He really can't ask now, not after everything he's done in the dark. But he wants to be someone who is worthy of this. He wants to be worthy of Tony.

Tony is silent a long time, but Tony is squeezing his hand just as tightly. He watches Tony lick his lips, a pale motion in the rapidly dimming room.

"I can't be your savior," Tony says, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "You know that, right?" He shakes his head a little. "Not about the war, not about your Secret Avengers. None of it. If you need forgiveness, if you need absolution, I can't be that." He smiles a small smile. "I can love you. I _do_ love you, with all of my heart. But I can't save you."

Steve takes a deep breath. This is what broke him and Sharon. At least Tony is up front about it.

"I know," Steve tells him. He's always known how to fight his own battles.

"I'll be there for you," Tony says, and Steve relaxes a little, hearing it. "You won't be alone. And it's okay if you need me. That's what this is about, the two of us, right? I need you too. But when it comes to this part, I— I can't do it for you." He looks a little rueful. "You pick up a few things in those meetings."

"Thank you," Steve says. "I do need you. I just don't need that from you. I understand."

He'll just have to save himself. He's done it before.

Tony's smile is a little wider. "We understand each other, then."

"We usually do," Steve says, and Tony kisses his cheek.

"Good."

Steve is suddenly, shamefully conscious of the fact that they're both fully dressed. God, he's still got his boots on. He ought to do better by Tony than this. Also—he glances down—he's ruined Tony's good shirt. Well. They both have, really.

"I, uh," Steve says. "Sorry about your shirt."

Tony looks down at the mess soaking the fabric and grins a lopsided grin. "Not a problem," he says.

His suit ripples under Steve's hands and then... disappears? Tony's naked in his arms now, the blue glow of the RT illuminating the dimming room. There's still come on Tony's stomach, but it's not on his suit. Which, apparently, didn't exist. It's clearly a new function of his new armor.

"Better living through technology," Tony says, with that pleased grin that Steve has always loved. "Organic material absorption, though, huh, that's an issue. Never really tested coming all over myself. Or anyone else coming all over me." He looks up. "Steve, you're frowning," he says, and there's a glint of trepidation in his eyes.

Just his luck. The one thing Tony would remember from having Extremis is that Steve hated it.

"It's not that," Steve says, quickly. "I just— you could have taken your clothes off earlier and let me touch you?"

Flustered, Tony pauses, his mouth open, like he couldn't even have imagined Steve wanting to touch him. "I," Tony says. "Uh. Yes?" He glances at himself. "I thought maybe you wouldn't— I thought maybe the RT—"

Steve dares to smooth his hand over Tony's chest, next to the RT housing. "I've seen it before. And you're still beautiful."

Impulsively, he leans in and kisses the RT. The metal and glass is cool under his lips. It doesn't feel strange or alien. It's just Tony. This is who Tony is. Sometimes there's metal on him. Sometimes there's metal in him. It's been like that since the day Steve opened his eyes in this century, and Steve's not sure why Tony expects it to put him off now.

When he looks up, Tony's still staring at him like he's not sure he's real. Steve knows people must have complimented him—after all, he's Tony Stark—but Steve supposes it's different when it's him.

"Hey, you want to shower with me?" Steve asks, and Tony just grins at him like Steve's made him the best offer of his life.

* * *

Steve finally gets his uniform off, and Tony spends a lot of time staring at him, open-mouthed, looking stunned, like Steve's on display at a museum and Tony isn't allowed to touch the exhibits. Steve wants to tell him everything is permitted now.

They don't both exactly fit in the hotel shower, but they make the best of it, and Steve presses Tony back against the tile as Tony's hands grow bolder and braver, as Tony starts to accept that this is real. Tony's skin against his is warm and soft and Steve thinks they should have done it like this before. If it's up to him, Tony's not putting clothes on for the rest of the night.

Tony gasps in his ear and surges up against him and Steve wonders with fierce possessiveness if any of the others Tony was sleeping with cared about him like this, if they wanted him to be happy the way Steve does.

Warm water sluices over him as Steve falls to his knees, as he takes Tony in his mouth. Tony gasps and thrusts in, huge and hot and perfect, and Steve holds him so he doesn't fall, and when Steve looks up Tony is smiling, and he thinks that they were always supposed to be like this.

After, they towel off, cuddle in bed, order obscene amounts of room service, eat and laugh and talk about _do you remember when_ and _that was the first time I knew I loved you_ , and it it feels like the old days again, the way the old days should have been.

It's still snowing outside, but Steve's found shelter from the storm.

"Stay with me," Steve whispers, into the curve of Tony's neck, as Tony curls up in his arms.

"Couldn't leave if I wanted to," Tony says. He breathes out, warm on Steve's hands. "Don't want to."

It occurs to Steve that maybe Tony doesn't think of it as being trapped. Maybe it's not trapped if they're together. Maybe Tony doesn't want to go home.

Steve realizes, very distinctly, that he doesn't want this to end. He wants to stay like this, just like this, for as long as Tony will have him.

He doesn't need to tell Tony that this isn't casual.

* * *

When Steve opens his eyes again, the room is bright. He's disoriented for a split second, trying to work out _where am I_ and _who am I with_ and _did we really_ and eventually settling on a sleepy _oh that's nice_ , as Tony burrows against Steve's neck and clings to one of Steve's arms with both of his, as he sleeps, like it belongs to him now.

Tony wakes a little later, blinking bright eyes at him and then kissing him.

Steve doesn't want this to be over. Oh, they can come back to each other, all right—but they're not even both on the team, and Steve goes wherever his missions take him.

He dresses slowly. He glances out the window. The snow's melting. It's time to take his leave.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony shimmers his business suit back on. It's a neat trick.

And then Tony gives him that smile, that one that makes everything within Steve go hot, and Tony says, "How about one more for the road?"

There's no way Steve's going to say no to that.

He lets Tony lead him back to bed, press him down to the mattress, kiss him, crawl down his body. Tony pushes up his uniform shirt, trails kisses across his stomach. Steve shuts his eyes and thinks about going into battle with the memory of Tony's touch on him, hidden there under all of his armoring, safe where no one can take it from him. He thinks about knights riding to tournaments with their ladies' favors, and he wonders if Tony would enjoy or resent the comparison.

Tony's fingers undo his belt, unzip his fly, push his clothing aside with more confidence than last night, like he's already beginning to understand that he belongs here.

Tony pauses with his fingers loosely encircling the base of Steve's cock, and Steve opens his eyes to find Tony looking along the length of his body in wonder.

"Can I?" Tony asks, and Steve smiles, and Tony bows his head.

And God, Tony's good at this. Oh, Steve's heard the rumors, over the years; he knows that everyone who's ever been with Tony has had nothing but compliments about his skill. But somehow he wasn't expecting it to be like this. Tony takes him into his mouth, and Tony's tongue slides over Steve's cock like he already knows exactly how Steve likes it best, and Tony licks and sucks with that intense, gorgeous focus of his, the one that suggests that there is nowhere else in the world Tony would rather be than right here. Steve lets himself believe that Tony saves this for him.

Steve's hand slides down the bed and he's petting Tony's hair, fingers sliding through Tony's dark curls, curving over Tony's skull, and Tony just hums in pleasure around Steve's cock, and it just undoes him, knowing that Tony likes this too— and, to his surprise, Steve is coming hard, in Tony's mouth, faster than he meant to—

It's perfect, and Steve wants it to last forever, but now it's over.

Tony raises his head and licks Steve's come from his reddened lips. Steve wants to take a picture. Frame it.

"Sorry," Steve says. "I just— that was really— you were really—"

"It was my pleasure," Tony says, softly, and he shifts his weight to move away, and that's when Steve catches his hand and drags him back up the bed to hold him close.

"Stay with me," Steve whispers in Tony's ear, the same offer he made last night, and he'd say that he doesn't know what he's saying except he does, he does. "Come home with me."

Tony stiffens like he wants to flinch and can't. "Steve, I— I live in Seattle now. You're on a black-ops team. You don't live anywhere except that Quincarrier. Where exactly do you think—"

"New York," Steve says, drawing breath and saying it before he can talk himself out of it. He squeezes his eyes shut. "New York, Tony. I'll quit the secret team. Someone else can get SHIELD active again. I'll join the main team if you'll have me, I'll— God, I'll save my own soul. Just come home with me. I don't want to be alone in the dark anymore."

One breath. Two. Steve wonders if this is too much, if he's gone too far. He knows he always comes on too strong.

When he opens his eyes, Tony is smiling.

"Was the blowjob honestly that good?" Tony asks. There's bright, amused joy in his gaze. "I have to say, I'm flattered."

And Steve starts laughing. "You," he says, as he chuckles. "You're trying to make me happy. I see it now."

"Well, yeah," Tony says. With two fingers he traces over Steve's hairline, eyebrow, cheekbone. "I mean, I kind of thought that was the point."

Steve never thought they could have this.

"Do you want to come to New York with me today?" Steve asks.

Tony nods and smiles. "It'll take me a few hours to get everything squared away, and I'm sure I'll have to make a trip back later this week, but if you want to start getting flight clearances for your Quincarrier I can follow you east in the suit, and I'm faster—"

"I think you should join me in the Quincarrier," Steve says, and he tries to put on one of Tony's salacious looks. He's not really sure it works on him, but Tony's mouth curves in that hot, hungry smile.

"Oh?"

"For one thing," Steve says, "I guarantee I have lube in the Quincarrier."

"Commander!" Tony feigns shock but his lips quiver in a smile again. "I have never been more proud to serve my country."

"I love you too," Steve says, and he kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/171496203259/fic-wonders-of-the-world-the-keep-me-safe-from)!


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